Telling Sam
by Marlowe97
Summary: Set in season 5. Sam finds out about the first seal. Not much more to say about that... Rated for swearing and minor brother-bashing
1. Chapter 1

_Hi_

_After the start of the new season, I participated in a discussion about Sam, Dean, seals and stuff. And since there are very different opinions out there about the behaviour of Dean during Bobbys "chew-out" (while possessed) and the little fact that no one knows for sure if Sam knows about Dean being the one to break the FIRST seal...well. I just thought this would be an interesting ( meaning: I wanna see them ACT like that!)way for them to come clean, the plotbunny bared its fangs. And got me good..._

_So. Anyway._

_Here we go. This is set in season5, not too far in the future. _

_Spoiler: Well, yeah. Set in season 5, so..._

_Disclaimer: Nope. Nothing. Don't own anything in here - just the barn and the car._

_Warning: Oh yes! The cuss a lot, using the f-word mostly. No. Not 'fudge'..._

* * *

„What do you want here?"

Well, that certainly wasn't what Sam expected. He had somehow convinced himself that Dean would be happy to see him – considering he had just offed the spirit that had been throwing the older man against a wall. Now they were panting from the exercise, each with a wary look in the face.

"I don't know – a "thank you" might be a good start, though." Sam held out his hand to help his brother up, but Dean just ignored it and pushed himself from the floor, supressing a groan when he straightened his back.

"Thank you, then. Satisfied? Now go away."

"What?"

"Are you deaf all of a sudden? I said 'go away'." Sam stared.

"No. I don't wanna go. I'll stay – I want to help."

"You can't help. Now fuck off."

"What kind of thing crawled up your ass? You need every help you can get – and you should be…"

"What? Grateful? I should kiss your feet that you decided to _assist_ me in this matter – whatever this matter is? Is that it? Because then you came for nothing – I don't kiss anybodys feet. Or ass, come to that." Sam stared some more. Unbelievable.

"Dean…"

"Don't 'Dean' me! I don't need your help, now leave and get on with your life. Shoo, there's a good boy." And he actually, unbelievably waved Sam in the direction of the door of the old barn, where the ghost had wrecked havoc the last twenty years. Dean waved Sam away like he would wave at a wayward chicken – and Sam was pissed.

"Are you nuts? You don't need help??? You need every fucking bit of help you can get, you arrogant bastard! Just because you're this special vessel now? Because you're this magnificent _weapon_ all of a sudden – now you don't need any help anymore? This, this… that… I can't…"

"Yeah, right! I'm special, I can handle things alone. Now go – before I smite your ass!" Dean pushed his shoulder but Sam didn't budge, yelled at his brother.

"No!. I'm not leaving. You can push me all you want, but I messed this up – I unleashed the Apokalypse and now I need to help set it right."

Dean was still pushing and his voice was hard and cold when he answered.

"You didn't. You didn't unleash the Apokalypse. See? Not your doing – now go the Hell _away_!"

"What do you mean?" Sam stared at the man in front of him, not really understanding and not really sure he knew him anymore. Dean looked… cold. Hard. Not like before, when he had kept his feelings inside, but worse. Now he looked as if he'd never _had_ any feelings. None at all. "What do you mean? I mean… I saw – _you_ saw me unleashing Lucifer. It was me doing that – no one else. So what do you… _NO! _Don't you dare turn your back at me! Look me in the eyes, you ass and _tell_ me the fuck what you mean!" He grabbed his brothers shoulder and tried to turn him around, but before he could manage, Dean had twisted out of his grasp, taken three steps away and looked at him. Looked him square in the eyes. And he told him.

"Well, you broke the last seal. That much is true. But hey… guess who broke the _first!"_ and he indicated himself in the mocking, oh-so-familiar manner he always had when he tried to ridicule serious situations. Sam stared some more – this was gonna be the day his eyes fell out of their sockets.

"What? How? When?" He would have wished to have some more capability of expressing himself, but in the end, that was exactly what he needed to know.

"'_And it is written – the first seal shall break when the rightous_" here he scoffed "_man sheds blood in Hell_' See? I did that. I broke the first seal – I started it. Now go."

Dean turned around and started to assemble his weapons, Sam clearly ignored and dismissed. But he didn't want to be dismissed. No way!

"Excuse me? You … you let me believe that I alone am responsible for starting the end of the world?"

"Yepp" the single sound was crueler than anything he ever heard before.

"You…you let… you let Bobby chew me a new one, standing by and saying nothing, just … just … I can't believe that! That is…"

"Bobby was possessed."

"_**And you fucking knew that, right???"**_ Now Sam was more than pissed – he was furious. And when Dean still didn't bother to look at him, still didn't acknowledge his anger, he snapped. Like a whirlwind he was by him, grabbed his shirt and pushed him bodily across the room, against the wall.

"You fucking hypocrite!!! You tell me about guilt and let me wallow in self-pity and all the while you sit by and let me feel miserable – and you knew, you _knew_ that I wasn't the only one to blame. I know you had probably no choice in breaking, but you damn well had a choice in _telling!_ So why – why the** fuck** didn't you?? Why didn't you tell me? Why… why?" He was furious and his anger burned hot and hard and he was right, he had every right to be mad as hell, but because he was he missed the flicker of panic when he had his brother pinned, when he grabbed his wrists to prevent him from breaking the hold he had on him. He missed it and when he was able to look again, it was gone and Dean just hissed.

"Let go. ..Go! Now Sam!"

"No. No I won't! You tell me why and I might… I might consider it. But no – I wanna hear your excuse, your _reason_" his voice was acid "for betraying me like that. For making me feel like that on purpose. So tell me" he pushed Dean again, his face just inches from his brothers, his powerful hands wrapped around the wrists. He never saw the headbutt coming and it nearly broke his nose, when Deans forehead hit. Blood spurted from his nostrils and the pain was so hot, cold, hard and excruciating, he couldn't see. Tears spilled from his eyes and everything blurred for a second, but it was enough for the older brother to break free and reverse the situation.

"Cause I _wanted_ you to!" he yelld, pushing Sam, taking all his anger, his fury and wrath. And now it was Sam who was against the wall, Sam who felt the hot breath in his face, the forearm across his throat. "Because I wanted you to feel miserable and guilty and shitty. I wanted to hurt you, to punish you. To feel like shit, like the shittiest piece of shit ever! To make you miserable and… and… and to _hurt_ you!" His fist was raised, ready to his blurrry vision he could see it poised and he saw the effort it took to keep it raised, to stop it from meeting his face, from smashing his teeth. There was only wrath in his brothers eyes, just anger and the will to cause pain. He had _never_ seen him like that. Never. But now… now he could imagine the unimaginable. Now he could actually _see_ Dean in front of a torture-rack, opening flesh, cutting, ripping and breaking soul after soul. Not even the black emptiness in the eyes of the possessed held as much horror as his brothers blazing green eyes held right now.

"Dean…"

"_**SHUT UP!"**_ and the fist stroke.

It was so fast, even if Sam could have deemed his brother, his friend and protector throughout all his life capable of hurting him, even then he wouldn't have been able to move away. In the split second it took for the fist to reach his face, his cheekbone or his jaw, Sam brazed for the pain he knew was inevitable. He heard the terrible crunch of the impact and for another split second he wondered how long it would take his brain to recognize the pain, or if he would just drop unconcious instantly. But nothing happened and then his brain caught up again and he knew that the fist had met the wall instead, just inches from his left ear.

"That's what you wanted to hear, right?" Deans voice had lost the volume, was just a sharp hiss, so close that Sam felt the spit at his skin. The burning fury was gone, replaced by cold indifference. Dean pushed himself off the younger.

"Now you know – now fuck off. You have no business with me."

Sam swiped at his face to get rid of the spittle, stunned. He opened his mouth to say something – anything.

"**FUCK OFF!**

And he did.


	2. Chapter 2

He left through the barndoor through which he had entered earlier, still stunned and numb from the shock. Shock of being lied to – again. Shock af being betrayed – for the first time. Shock of seeing his brother – for the first time _ever_ – as a threat, as something other than his friend. As something other than _Dean._

He stumbled across the empty field towards his 'borrowed' car and he was still reeling from the fact that everything he ever took for real, for granted – for _safe_ was nothing but a lie. His foot caught in a branch of brumble and he had to stop to disentangle his jeans when he heard it.

A loud crack, a thump and a yell filled with so much anguish and pain and loneliness that he first took a look around, certain he had heard a wolf. But of course, it wasn't a wolf.

He turned around and looked at the barn behind him, dark and oppressive in the moonlight. He saw the flicker of the fire in which the ghoslty farmer roasted and that was all he saw. And he didn't hear any more.

'I walked away' he thought. 'I left. He wanted me to – and I did. I should go.' But instead, as if his feet had their own mind, had their own idea about right and wrong he turned around fully and walked back, started to jog even. He couldn't tell why – would never in his life be able to tell why. But he _had to go back._

When he was close, he slowed. He heard something, a low 'thumpthump' which he couldn't place. Before he crossed the threshold, he peered inside, and what he saw froze his heart..

His brother, the picture of fury and anger and raw power from before was on his knees, face to the wall, back towards the door. The noise came from him – he banged his fist against the rough brick-wall repeatedly, again and again and again. Not hard, but again, again, again. He suddenly remembered the sharp crack when that fist didn't hit him but the barn instead. It must have hurt.

Without conscious thought, his feet took over again. Every nerve-ending shoved him closer, he couldn't escape the instinctive reaction to seeing his family in pain. Before he even knew it, he was kneeling next to Dean, took his shoulder gently. He expected a fight, a shove or a push. But nothing. He carefully took the bloody right hand in his own and looked at the damage.

"Fuck off, Sam" but it was a whisper, a small voice like that of a scared child. Not even close to the spiteful, angry screaming from just minutes before. Like a wildfire after it ran its course, Dean had burned – and crashed.

"Shhh, let me look." He didn't say anything just yet – wouldn't know what. Instead, he pried the fingers loose, unbent them from the rigid clench they had been in. He felt the shudder shoot through his brothers arm when the pain hit.

"Shhhh." Carefully, he smoothed the hand over and wriggled to reach the clean handkerchief his family was known to never leave the house – or car – without. He spit on it and very gently cleaned the blood from the knuckles.

"Man, you don't do anything by half, don't you?" The only response was a short hitch in his breath, maybe the beginning of a chuckle but impaired by the pain. Without the blood, Sam could asses the damage better. He whistled silently through his teeth.

"Wow. That needs a cast." Another hitch of breath, and this time he looked up and tried to see the face of his older brother. But couldn't – his head was turned away.

"Dean?"

"Just leave, Sam" The voice still held nothing. No anger and not much of any emotion whatsoever. But it was rough and sounded foreign, like the voice of a stranger. Not like Dean at all, and certainly not powerfull. There it was again, the hitch. But… not. His brother, his strong, capable, powerful brother was snivelling. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the adams-apple bounce in the tell-tale way of someone crying.

"Dean? What the hell..? Does it hurt that bad?" A short laugh, more painful than happy.

"No, it's ok. Just… just go."

"I think I established that I won't do that. Not just yet"

"Why?" He nearly didn't hear that, it was so low.

"What, 'why'? I need a reason?"

"I … I lied to you. Didn't tell ya. Did… wanted…"

"Yeah. You're a dick. But that doesn't mean I let you sit here, smashing your hand. Dude, you might need it again."

Dean scoffed at that. At least some reaction.

"Just… Damn. Just leave, Sammy. I can't… I…"

"No, asshead. You nearly pushed me through the wall, the least you can endure now is letting me wittness your breakdown."

"no breakdown" it was whispered only, followed by a sharp intake of breath when Sam accidentaly brushed across the hand too hard.

"Sorry. No breakdown? Man, coulda fooled me. Come on – spill it."

"What's the point?" he still didn't meet his eyes, but at least he had turned his head a little towards him.

"What do you mean? The point is… I don't know what the point is supposed to be, but… Well, there _is_ a point in caring about your family – messed up as it is." Now Dean chuckled, and Sam should have been happy about it, but he just couldn't be. It was an ugly sound, no nice chuckle at all. Sharp and spiteful.

"Yeah… What's the point in spilling the beans? I mean – I'll do what I'm supposed to do, or die trying. Just let me sit here and wallow in self-pity, ok? Just… leave me with at least that much… well, too late for pride, I guess. But maybe appearance? Let me at least… pretend."

"No. Come on – what happened? You were all hell-bent" he winced at the ill choice of words " on saving the world, righting the wrong. Putting Lucifer back in his cage. What's changed?"

"Changed? Nothing has changed, Sam. I'll still do that. And that's … "

"That's what? That's all? Isn't that enough?"

"Yeah. Has to be, right? Enough, I mean." Sam shook his head.

"I hate to say this, I really do, but Dean… Man, I don't get it. What's wrong with you? Don't you care about what happens? About what happens to _you_? You're not scared?"

"Hell, Sam. I'm… I'm freaking scared off my pants. I just.. It's just… I mean – why should I care about me?" That left Sam nearly speechless. He had thought Dean to be beyond his low self-esteem, though when he thought about it he couldn't really see any reason for him to be. Not that there had been a lot to boost him in the last two years…

"You should care, though. You just… you just should."

"It's not that easy, ya know? I mean – honestly? Who gives a fuck anyway?" He finally met Sam's gaze and the … the… the nothingness, loneliness, fear and …whatever it was in there took his breath away. Dean didn't look anything like he had before. He looked shattered. Worse even than in Kentucky, after his 'big confession' under the bridge. Just.. splintered in tiny little pieces of glass and soul and Sam couldn't help but feel a little bad – even though he didn't want to – understanding that he wasn't magically healed after telling Sam about hell, after whatever. He was still not whole. And he probably wouldn't be the same ever again. Nor would he be...

"It's not easy to give a fuck when there doesn't seem to be a point. I mean – you said it yourself. I'm a freaking _sword_. I'm supposed to be a vessel, a… a shell. For a freaking angel. Fuck – I don't _want_ that. I… I might destroy the world if I don't agree to that, but… I…Sam." He blinked furiously, trying to get the tears back into his scull from where they had treacherously escaped. He wiped at them with his left, the right was still cradled in his brothers lap.

"Is that all I am? All I ever .. all I was supposed to be? Not even a _person_? All I am good for is a fucking shell? Not even… there is nothing that anyone is interested in that is me? I mean.. angels want my… skin. Want me hollowed out and _use_ me. Made me _torture_ again, even up here. Everyone wants to use me. Women wanna fuck me – and believe me, I don't mind that! _Men_ wanna fuck me. Hell, according to the Internet, even _you_ want to fuck me. Demons wanna mess with my soul – whoopy, at least _someone_ has good use for that. Shit Sam. Talk about low self- esteem. Dammit." He snapped his finger "I get it. I do – now. I finally get why you were so scared and angry and … and whatever you were when you found out…heard about Azazel's – Liliths…whoever's plan for you. I tried to get it earlier, I just… I just couldn't. But now I do. I'm sorry I didn't really see it. Just… sorry."

Sam stared at his brother. He'd never thought about it that way. All he had heard when Zacharia told them about the… the vessel-thing was that Dean was special. That he had been chosen for a higher purpose. He had been _glad_ for him. Had thought that finally someone told him that he was worth something, someone whom he would believe – loath but believe. Even though he sure didn't mind Dean refusing the "offer" to be an angel-wrapper. Typical that his brother wouldn't see it that way.

"Well. Maybe that's not the comfort you're seeking, but I _do_ give a damn about you. _You_-you. And I sure as Hell don't wanna fuck you! Bobby gives a damn about you, Ellen apparently. I'm pretty sure none of those want to hop into the hay with you – I'm not so sure about Jo, though. You… I tell you that I'm proud of ya?" He looked up "Huh, guess not. Well, I am. For not backing down. For fighting those feather-fucks. For… for being you. I'm proud to be your brother, I should have told you last year, I didn't and that's really unforgivable. I am. Proud, I mean. Oh, by the way – you _must _ be something special. Dude, Cas _fell_ for you. Honestly? I think he might have a little crush on ya." Now he earned an honest laugh. Short though it was, it was still a relief to hear it.

"Great. I'll add him to the list." Dean swallowed. "Sam, I … I'm sorry. For not tellin' ya. For…for being an ass – again. I… I'm really, really scared. And not - well surprisingly I'm no so scared about me. But.. Shit, I guess we have a curse on top of us. Everyone who gives a shit is either dead, damaged or…well. Dead. I don't know if I can do that. This. Be… whatever. I just don't think I can win this."

Sam took a while to look around. He tried to picture them in the barn. What a strange sight they would make: kneeling in the dirty old straw littered around on the ground, Deans hand cradled in his own. They were closer to each other than they had been in years. The last time he remembered staying so long at such a short distance – inside each others personal space - had been when he was fourteen and had had what he had believed to be the worst night in his life: Dad in hospital, Dean still upright and talking but bloodied from his own, Dads and the victims blood – and on top of that, his very first girlfriend had told him he was a freak and she never wanted to see him again. That night Dean had tucked him under his chin and held him while they waited for the doctors to tell them if their father would survive. It had been the last time he had allowed Dean to hold him close. It had felt good, though. Maybe...

"Don't."

"What?"

"You're thinking about hugging, dontcha? So: don't. This is the most undignified I can stand right now." Sam chuckled.

"You know – you're right."

"What? About hugging?"

"No. I agree, you cannot win this." He waited, because he was still a little miffed about Dean playing high and mighty – whatever his reasons had been. And he was not above making him anticipate a low blow.

"Yeah…"

"_You_ can't. But _we_ just might pull it off." The short glance he got for that was nearly shy – but Dean Winchester didn't _do_ shy, so it must have been a trick of the light.

"You know. That is really sweet. No, I mean it" he added when he felt Sam pull away, fearing the usual smart-ass response to something emotional. And he swallowed again. "Thanks, Sam. For… well."

"Don't thank me, you ass. I'm still mad and I'm gonna kick your hiney from here to Chicago. But right now you should let someone professional take a look at your hand, you idiot. And then… then we'll go look at some books and lore and stuff and we'll figure something out. And if we don't… well. I might be a little diverted once in a while, but I don't make the same mistakes twice. I'm gonna fucking handcuff you to my arm if I have to, so you don't ever sell your soul to anyone again."

"Ooo, kinky."

"Yeah maybe. Now stop snivelling and wallowing. We have work to do." He stood, which wasn't easy since they had been sitting in the same position for some time now.

"And by the way:" he took Deans elbow and helped him up "Stay off those fansites! They mess with your head!"

Now all they needed to do was find a hospital, evade the questions – and Castiel for a while – and don't get killed. Oh, and stop the Apocalypse. Piece of cake….

A_nd if I'm really lucky, I might just find you a shrink. This self-hate-issue is getting way out of hand…_

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a/n:

Thats it, folks. Would LOVE to read what you think. Please????_  
_


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